


Gold

by FyreCatPickles, J_EnotsoLovely



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bisexuality, Feelings, M/M, Open to Interpretation, Poetry, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyreCatPickles/pseuds/FyreCatPickles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_EnotsoLovely/pseuds/J_EnotsoLovely
Summary: Sanji took in a deep breath through his nose, focusing on the creak of leather bringing him to the moment before him as his hands wrung tightly together. The nervous energy he always felt before performing was beginning to build once more. He hated this feeling, but he’d rather feel twitchy than feel nothing at all he supposed.It was like a roller coaster, a fucked up roller coaster of anxiety and doubt that always forced himself to strap in and prepare. It was a ride he was most familiar with. With the ups and downs making his hands and feet twitch, the pitfalls and loops of self-doubt, the slow ‘tick-tick-tick’ of the climb as he waited for the expected drop of his stomach when he would finally get the courage to stand and perform. He hated it, but it was addictive because the most gratifying sensation awaited him at the end.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

> A snip of our new fic (which honestly might not come out for a while?)  
> But we just wanted to see the reception we'd get on it!

Zoro nodded his head, movement near imperceptible as he washed glasses down. It seemed like the performer tonight was a particular brand of violent. The touch of the cup was cool, even under the hot water and it was a confusing sensation. The soap duds danced around his fingers-- forever crooked a bit to the right, courtesy of what he told most people was a freak accident-- and he rinsed them away, shutting off the water with a wet hand and wincing slightly at the semi-loud squeak the faucet made. It was Tuesday, Poetry night, which meant the atmosphere of the bar was a lot more somber.

Especially with _them_ up on the stage right now. Stealth Black and his accompanist Sogeking, who Zoro knew to be Usopp. The curly haired man was one of the many strays that Luffy had seemed to pick up while he was gone for those two years. Like the woman who had made her across from, orange mane flickering like a flame in the darkness. He’d never admit to her that along with Luffy, she helped him recover a lot after-- everything. 

“ _Witch.”_ He hissed, purposefully contradicting his inner thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” 

“I was in the area.” Nami replied airily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The suit she wore was fitted, a striped blazer curving nicely over her figure. “Figured I’d stop by and cash in on the free drink you owe me.” She leaned forward on the counter, running a long finger over his clothed arm, down to his elbow-- where his sleeves had been rolled up-- and to his wrist, ghosting over bare skin. She rested the pad of her index finger on his pulse, letting it linger for a beat before smiling softly. 

“You mean the one you’ve been cashing in for weeks now?” Zoro muttered, rolling his eyes and shaking her off, ignoring the heat he could feel flooding his cheeks. Checking his pulse was a habit she seemed to have picked up while he’d been hospitalized, worried he might die while in his comatose state. Zoro hated to worry anyone, and felt guilty for making a strong woman like Nami cry, so he let her do as she pleased whenever she came around, though truth be told, she would’ve done whatever the hell she wanted with or without his consent regardless. 

Turning around, he reached for a fresh glass, gliding over to the sprite canister and filling the cup half way before reaching into the mini fridge. As he leaned down, his ears pricked, tuning back in to what Stealth Black was saying, staring at the figure on the stage with an overbearing intensity. The man was wearing a simple, but high quality suit, crisp black melding into the background. His hair was long, a shining blond that was slicked back, into a ponytail.

|+|

Sanji took in a deep breath through his nose, focusing on the creak of leather bringing him to the moment before him as his hands wrung tightly together. The nervous energy he always felt before performing was beginning to build once more. He hated this feeling, but he’d rather feel twitchy than feel nothing at all he supposed.

It was like a roller coaster, a fucked up roller coaster of anxiety and doubt that always forced himself to strap in and prepare. It was a ride he was most familiar with. With the ups and downs making his hands and feet twitch, the pitfalls and loops of self-doubt, the slow ‘tick-tick-tick’ of the climb as he waited for the expected drop of his stomach when he would finally get the courage to stand and perform. He hated it, but it was addictive because the most gratifying sensation awaited him at the end. That release of stress and freedom of getting his voice out there. It would all be worth it in the end, but the build-up was always a battle.

“Hey? You good there?” Sanji heard from just off to his left side and it forced him to glance over at his partner. Usopp, dressed in his masked Sogeking uniform, nudged his shoulder as he whispered, mindful of the performer already on stage.

If anyone had told Sanji Blackleg he would one day be regularly performing poetry inside a bar a few months ago he would have kicked them, but here he was sitting next to one of his best friends ready to go onto a stage. A small stage he had slowly been associating to one of the most cathartic releases for his stress and anxieties, almost as cathartic as when he had started smoking cigarettes.

“Yeah, just getting ready to talk about my most intimate personal life and inner demons to a group of strangers that no doubt think I’m completely fucked in the head. You know, so normal.” Sanji smoothly shrugged his shoulders, no doubt smirking behind the mask that covered the lower half of his face. Usopp must have known because all he did was shake his head.

“Did you,” the artist motioned with his own paint stained gloves, the fingerless webs smudged with layers of acrylics and charcoal from masterpieces long passed, “already take your meds? I know it’s a bit late to ask, but-”

“-Yes. I did.” Sanji leaned over nudging Usopp’s arm. It had become a habit between them, and only them, to remind each other about, what Sanji deemed their crutches. Sanji barely liked the idea of having to take the damning pills, but ever since- He took in a deep breath, covering his hands once more and shaking the thoughts away. He wasn’t about to start thinking about his situation before going on stage. He had enough on his plate as is. “And you, Mr. Forgetful?”

“I’ll have you know I have a great system in place to remind me.” Usopp puffed up his chest though he kept his tone to a proud whisper.

“Ah yes, your endless colored rubber bands and strings. How inventive.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Usopp wiggled his fingers showing off the colored ties missing the hint of sarcasm coming from his friend. Sanji just snorted, perfectly content with an alarm on his phone, but who was he to judge? He was the one taking the damn things in the first place, far be it from him to tell someone how to live their life.

“So,” Sanji started, leaning to the side slightly, trying to get a glimpse of the crowd. “What’s the word of the night?” He watched from his peripheral as Usopp rocked back on his heels, dark hand resting on his chin in contemplation. The curly haired man hummed quietly, rainbow array of strings swaying slightly at the minute motion. 

“Aha!” The artist exclaimed, lifting a finger and tilting his head to the side. “Why not medication, since it's fresh in your mind? Or women-- not sure how that would work, though knowing you, you could make it sound like they were one in the same thing.”

“You’d be surprised.” Sanji replied slowly, wheels already turning in his mind. He tried to keep his performances as authentic as possible and refrained from completely writing out everything. He did like to jot down any good lines that came to mind and a few of them were resurfacing. Drugs and women, deadly combination the both of them. Utterly poisonous, a venom like none other. 

And unfortunately, an addiction that he was long subservient to. 

The sounds of cheer startled him from his thoughts and he stood a bit straighter, looking over at his friend before taking a deep breath. The announcer called out their names-- _Stealth Black and Sogeking--_ and Sanji had exactly one second to ask himself the ritual ‘why the _fuck_ am I doing this’ before flinging open the curtains and gliding out with broad, confident steps. 

“Good Evening!” He purred, throwing his arms out with flamboyant flourish. “It’s wonderful seeing you again!” He reached a gloved hand up, pulling on the cloth of his mask until it bundled comfortably on his chin. To the side, Sanji watched Usopp set up, hundreds of times appearing on stage making this feel like nothing, the artist putting his things in order swiftly and efficiently. “As always, with me is my faithful accompanist Sogeking, he who had once painted alongside the likes of Picasso himself,” He lifted a hand to his cheek and leaned forward, as though he were telling a secret-- “I’d spill the beans on how he looks so young despite such an outlandish claim, but then I’d have to kill you.”

The crowd tittered and Sanji allowed himself a tight smile in return. Only god knew how many times he’d murdered someone on this very stage. How many _women_ , that of which his problems like to manifest themselves as. “Speaking of killing,” he continued, grabbing the mic and walking around the stage, giving a small laugh as everyone grew quiet once more. “It’s safe to assume that we’ve all heard the saying ‘addiction kills’ at one point or another, right? During one of my many depressive episodes, I was smoking a cigarette and thinking about this shit show I call my life. I was so dick deep in this traitorous mind of mine that I looked down at my little death stick and almost started crying. Tears of gratitude of course.” 

He nodded, lifting a finger to point as his head, twirling slightly in indication of his instability. “See now, it makes sense, I swear! I was thinking, ‘you’re the only thing I have. You’re my only constant’. And it's true! When I was alone? My lovely cigarette was there. When I faced yet another heartbreak? Right by my side. When I looked in the mirror and felt disgusted? Its smoke covered my eyes and clouded my vision.” 

The crowd cheered, someone letting out a whistle and another yelling as they caught the double entendre. Sanji continued to talk, getting ready to start his poem. “Then later, while watching porn, I asked myself, ‘why the hell do I love women?’ No seriously, I asked myself that, because this whole heteronormative ideal really takes root and invades without warning. Society makes it to where, as a man, loving women is an addiction. Inescapable. And when things go wrong, and a man gives in to temptation-- and admittedly low self control-- its only ever because he was lured by the temptress. Enchanted by the siren. So then, finally, I thought. Huh, aren’t women and addictions one in the same thing? They’ll both willingly kill you in the end.”

He tapped his foot, before bowing slightly. “So in a way, this my apology, on behalf of all men. Though of course, many of you already know my style. Fair warning to any newcomer, things get extremely dark during my sessions. But well, time is hardly known to wait on anyone, so I suppose I should get started.”

Taking a deep breath, Sanji closed his eyes, composing himself. Already tears waited, pricking at the edges of his lids and threatening to fall. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he cried during a performance. 

“Black Maria,” He whispered, the moniker he used instead of _her_ name. “If I could be with _anybody,_ I’d choose you. Still,” the blond made his way back to the center of the stage, sitting on the small stool. “It’s no excuse to abuse you. But no one knows what I go through so I use you. To be truthful, I wouldn’t know _what_ to do if I lose you.” He gave a small, helpless shrug. “So I refuse to. I might have a screw loose or a fuse blew, though I think I’m building up a tolerance to you. One minute I’m hollering ``SCREW _YOU!”_ Sanji screamed, chest heaving, and having stood up without noticing. 

His words echoed through the small bars and he took a moment to calm down, before sitting back down. “Next, I take it back, guess you could say I’m trying to _un_ screw you. But shit’s about to pop off.” His voice went low, sultry. “I feel you up, then I got you totally open as soon as I take your top off. Girl you’re so hard to resist, you knock my socks off. My friends say you're bad for me. Hogwash.”

Sanji leaned back, stretching, his legs and giving a long, drawn out sigh. “But see Black Marie- _a_ ,” he said, lilting his voice as he broke down the syllables. “I’ll never love again, not the way that I loved you. And sometimes I wonder, did you find someone new? And are you doing _this_ with them?”

In the corner, Usopp was painting, fingers stained with paint of all colors. His tongue peeked out between his lips, eyebrows furrowed and gaze narrowed. 

“Some days it feels like you’re all that I have and that's why I try to hold on to you for as long as I can.” The blond clutched onto his blazer, nails digging in so far that it felt like they pierced his skin. He let go and gave a helpless shrug. “But you just want me for my money, so I have wrapped all in syran, damn.” Sanji chuckled, though it was a bit dark. “Talk about eating at the palm of my hand. But if not for my financials, I wouldn’t have you anyways. Cause there have ample, oh plenty days where I’m just in this haze.”

He jerked his body back, pretending that he was trying to get himself unstuck from something. “And I can’t pull myself out of this rut I have, and you’re just so fucking much of a _handful._ I can only take so much of you all at one time. Because too much of you is just too much to swallow at times so I take you in doses. But you know, when you’re not at my side I shake in convulsions, like separation anxiety.”

Sanji lifted his hand to the audience, letting them watch as it shook before them. The poet stared at the hand as if entranced by the nerves that betrayed him. “You, my Black Maria, are there on the nights when the fog is too thick. You are there on the days when the world is nothing but muted sirens echoing in my mind telling me I am nothing but waste and endless consumption.”

Sanji saw nothing but his outstretched hand, the white leather once more grounding him to this moment. He felt the words tumbling out of his mouth as the pressure of heat drummed behind his eyelids. “You, my lighthouse tasting of powder and chalk, reach out like a beacon to caress my throat and mind. Reminding me that the days and nights are not blurring together anymore. Whispering through the phone that ‘You are not alone’ and I believe you. I believe you for just a moment.”

The leather glove reached outward, as if hoping for a hand to be placed in its grasp. Sanji reached further, leaning forward in the chair as if grasping for a retreating figure. “But it’s a lie. A white chalk outlined lie because you, Black Maria, care nothing for my pain. Your painted lips whisper sweet nothings that things will get better, but they Don’t!” His voice raised as his fist balled in betrayal. “Your reminders and meetings say ‘At least things aren’t as bad as before’ but it still hurts! Your essence is everywhere and I know you are whispering those same words to him on nights you leave.”

“I want you for myself,” He paused, “but my hands cannot hold onto you long enough for you to stay. I need to swallow you whole. Consume and devour your flesh and prescription.”

**Author's Note:**

> let us know your thoughts! Pretty please? <3


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